Will woke up to a feeling of dread. He wished he could go back to sleep again, just for a while, so that he could avoid having to think about it all. About what he had done, and what it meant that he'd done it, and what the consequences might be.

He had crossed line after line last night. He hadn't planned to go nearly that far.

He hadn't intended to play with him that way.

Prodding Hannibal to fantasize about a new kill, after all this time – he'd thought it would be safe. Not much different than listening to him talk about his old murders. Just another kind of exercise. But it had become much more than that, almost immediately.

Because Will hadn't just listened. He had participated.

How long had it been, before last night, since he'd actually told Hannibal a fantasy of his own? Years. Not since before Will had tried to warn him to run and had wound up gutted on his floor.

He couldn't believe he had told Hannibal all of the things he had told him last night, all the things he had thought about doing. He couldn't believe he had exposed himself that way.

Another part of him couldn't believe it had taken him so long.

But what Will really could not believe – what he could barely even bring himself to admit – was the fact that he had actually allowed himself to stalk a random man as if he were prey. And had allowed Hannibal to see him enjoy it.

He couldn't tell himself that that part had been a game, or a test, or a theoretical exercise. That it was only in his imagination. Will was still a trained profiler. He wasn't in a position to lie to himself.

He knew that it had been a textbook escalation.

Many would-be murderers turn to stalking in order to explore their fantasies further, before they take the final step. Will had known that before he'd suggested it. And then he'd suggested it anyway.


Will found himself hoping, as he reluctantly began to get dressed, that Hannibal was either still asleep or else out of the house on some errand. But he knew that he wouldn't be. Not today. Will was certain that today, Hannibal was awake and waiting oh-so-patiently for Will to come down to the kitchen.

So Will went down to the kitchen, because there was nothing else he could really think to do.

When he saw Hannibal sitting there at the kitchen table, reading or pretending to read a newspaper with a cup of coffee in his hand, Will thought about walking right out of the kitchen door and driving away, just so that he wouldn't have to face him right now. Instead, as Hannibal glanced up at him, Will started making himself a cup of coffee so that he would have something else to look at, something to do with his hands.

"Good morning, Will."

Ok. He had to look at him. Hannibal's expression was… well, if it had been anyone else, the word would have been 'glowing.' But somehow, that didn't feel quite appropriate here.

Will came around the counter and sat down across the table from Hannibal, who folded up his newspaper with a theatrical little gesture and set it aside.

Will sighed. He wasn't going to let it rest for one single solitary second, was he?

No, he wasn't.

"You continue to surprise me, Will. Last night was an unexpected pleasure."

"Yeah, well, don't get used to it."

He wanted to believe himself. He wanted to believe that this would be the only time. It had to be. How much farther might it have gone? Might it go, if he tried something like this again?

It was as if Hannibal could hear his thoughts – or maybe his face had betrayed him. "It's natural for you to feel anxious, given the limits you have placed on yourself. Tell me. Was there a moment last night when you thought we might really kill that man?"

Will was suddenly aware that he was holding his coffee mug between himself and Hannibal like a pathetic little shield.

"No," he said. "I still felt in control of my actions. But…"

But Will knew all about lines. How impossible to cross they seemed from one side, and then how looking back they seemed as insubstantial as smoke.

If he'd allowed himself to find out where he lived, the man would've never been completely safe.

"I stopped you from following him because I was afraid I might change my mind. Not lose control. Just… change my mind."

There was no point in hiding any of this from Hannibal. Hannibal already knew.

"You have to be careful, Will," he said. "When the time comes, it should be something you choose. Not the product of a sudden impulse. I don't want you to do anything that will distress you."

"Sorry," said Will, "but since when?"

Hannibal's eyes flashed at that for a moment.

But then he replied, "All right, then. Will. I don't want to lose you. I don't want you to do anything that you can't live with having done."

This was not quite how Will had imagined this conversation would go. "Are you actually telling me not to kill?"

"Not at all," said Hannibal. "You are a killer. You have killed your attackers. But you have not murdered. Not yet. And if you had murdered that man last night, I suspect you would not have easily forgiven yourself for it. Nor me."

"And what makes you so sure of that?," asked Will, knowing that Hannibal was completely right.

"That man was not your type of prey. Regardless," said Hannibal, "I must tell you again what a pleasure it was to hunt with you, Will. I hope to do so again. Under different circumstances."

The person Will had thought he was before he met Hannibal would have told this Will to kill Hannibal now, where he sat, before this went even an inch further.

Instead, absurdly, he felt like he might be blushing.